Tag Archives: Medication

At first I was afraid
I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live
Without you by my side
But then I spent so many nights
Thinking how you did me wrong
And I grew strong
And I learned how to get along…

After a tumultuous 40 year relationship – plaguing me with a myriad of annoyances – I’m finding it challenging to cut the cord with my anticholinergic, even now that my brain bionics are waiting in the wings. Flexing its muscles, my anticholinergic is determined to stick around for Act II. However, I’m equally determined to boot him off the show.

Hardly known for my patience, I’ve exhibited unprecedented forbearance in the painstakingly slow process of Walking The Plank, even, shockingly, proactively taking a detour from the weekly weaning schedule when my walking grew funky. It’s all a delicate balancing act of amping up the power to compensate for lost “juice.”

With grad school awaiting me in the fall, I’d love to restore my short-term memory and normalize my urination so I’m not constantly rushing out of class for an impromptu rendezvous with the ladies room. The dream of being pill free shines strong, fortifying me with resolve to go the distance, no matter how long it takes. So Mr. Anticholinergic, as Gloria Gaynor sang so well:

Go on now go, walk out the door
Just turn around now
‘Cause you’re not welcome anymore
Weren’t you the one who tried to break me with goodbye?
Did you think I’d crumble?
Did you think I’d lay down and die?
Oh no not I, I will survive…

In the movement disorder world, “fiddling” has nothing to do with a musical instrument. Like the baby bear sampling bowls of porridge, I’m forever fine-tuning my meds in an overarching effort to get things “just right.” My “fiddling” is motivated by a precarious balancing act featuring a myriad of distasteful side effects encroaching upon my quality of life.

Patients be warned: “fiddling” is for the bold and the brave, every adjustment laden with a risk-bearing proposition. In my present alternative reality, I’m battling the lingering damage inflicted by a downswing in my main med even though I’ve climbed my way back to my prior dose. Voila, the sole result presented by my most recent game of risk is the companionship of my walker. Apparently, elimination of my parade of side effects requires elimination of my anticholinergic, a venture to the Deep South I’ve yet to undertake.

But there’s a moral to this story as I seek to live life without regrets, well understanding that our meaning decisions unavoidably lack the luxury of hindsight.

My neurologist and I make all sorts of adjustments. We go down on one culprit with particularly distasteful repercussions until my walking worsens. Then it’s time to regroup. We add meds to address side effects, which in turn make their own statements. Understand, I’m an impatient person who rarely acts incrementally. I embrace BIG CHANGE. Not with my pills. The process of going up and down, not to mention trying new meds, is E-X-C-R-U-C-I-A-T-I-N-G-L-Y S-L-O-W. But I appreciate the need to drive with caution and intermittently engage the brake.

The “games” never end. I had to discontinue a long-standing drug that caused my blood count to plummet dangerously. Another regular exerts undue influence on my blood labs, rendering them confounding to everyone except my neuro. Then there’s the trial and error of “new” treatments. During a clinical study, I became convinced a med was making my Dystonia worse and hightailed my way off that highway. I speak from experience when I say serious drugs merit serious vigilance.

I reap the benefits of a highly knowledgeable and careful neurologist. However, responsible health care doesn’t end with a trustworthy physician. As patients, we’re the ultimate arbiters of the substances we ingest and interjecting a healthy dose of caution is prudent. Do the research, investigate your options, read the fine print, ask probing questions, and trust your instincts when it comes to side effects – after all, you know your body best.

With World Health celebrated throughout spring and summer, the American Recall Center has embarked on a campaign to promote medication safety (check out their tips below). The American Recall Center website is an invaluable resource for prescription drug and medical device recall information and other healthcare topics advancing informed medical decisions.

Last week I experienced health care at its finest in my own peculiar version of one-stop shopping, heading to the hospital for a day of consultations flowing from Psychiatrist to Fellow to Attending Neurologist to Physical Therapist. Now that’s what I call patient-centered care, yours truly the star of the show! With Movement Disorder, one’s neurologist is often the tip of a medical ice-burg floating down a river teeming with doctors and therapists. Why shouldn’t treatment resemble a “power trip” to the mall to score a broad swath of retailers?

Pushing our “main squeeze” to the side, chronic illness ushers in a host of ancillary issues shaping quality of life. We confront side effects from our meds, the practical repercussions of a body gone wild, a seesaw of energy and fatigue…not to mention those emotional highs and lows. Assembling our go-to team requires us to work as our own Offensive Coordinator, searching out appropriate therapies – hopefully with providers who take our insurance – in an effort to quarterback a game plan aimed at gaining elusive yards as we journey up the field. The big “Hail Mary” may lie outside our control but we gun for those small victories.

Getting to the nitty-gritty of my “medical spree,” what a treat to bask in the rays of a professional crew evincing an understanding of a slew of complicated relationships – Dystonia the hub driving the wheel. They proffered care with concern, proactively addressed side effects rather than prescribing recklessly, and showed due respect for the knowledge I contribute…after all, I qualify as my own expert witness! Meanwhile, I enjoyed a bout of medical room service where the farthest I strayed was a jaunt down the hallway to display my decidedly Dystonic swagger. If only I could coax this symphony of place and time out of follow-up therapy appointments. When health care gets things right, it’s really rather incredible how much “simpler” our lives could be.

Touch your finger to your nose, then straight out towards the finger puppet. Oops, that was pediatric neurology. Feet on the floor, heel – toe, heel – toe. Now we’re going to draw spirals and write “today is a sunny day” while my arm engages in kinematic calisthenics. Then it’s time to strut my stuff. Occasionally, I even get to star in my own movie without a screen test. Julia Roberts, eat your heart out. Meanwhile, I daydream about shopping with my neurologist at Bloomingdale’s, where she lectures the evil saleslady on how that stunner of a cocktail dress will most definitely not be paired with heels but looks spectacular with my Aerosoles!

Once this mini workout session is concluded, we gab about the state of my movement affairs and the tease of a better tomorrow. Perhaps there’s a fresh-faced research study involving animal models (no, not Miss Piggy prancing down a runway in Versace). While the promise of medical science is encouraging, my tastes run to available and personally impactful therapeutics. Our version of walking on the wild side is to fiddle with my meds by s-l-o-w-l-y changing the dosage in excruciatingly small increments, a regimen that doesn’t sit well with my ever-burgeoning impatience. Really, is one tiny pill developed specifically for Dystonia too much to ask?

Highlights from the Bronx Zoo Walk on Oct. 4, 2015

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Email: ps@dystoniamuse.com

What seems like a lifelong experience with Dystonia began with a "mis-step" when I was 8-1/2. Dystonia may have staged a coup over certain body parts but my heart and soul remain firmly my own. I'm a friend, daughter, sister, creative mind, honorary auntie, fan of the quantum mechanical, hopefully one-day spouse, now also health activist.